Mr. Gasgoyne entered. Gaston prepared to go. “Is there anything more that I can do?” he said, as it were, to both. The girl replied. “Nothing at all, thank you.” They did not shake hands. Mr. Gasgoyne could not think that all had necessarily ended. The thing might be patched up one day yet. This affair with the dompteuse was mad sailing, but the man might round-to suddenly and be no worse for the escapade. “We are going early in the morning,” he said. “We can get along all right. Good-bye. When do you come to England?” The reply was prompt. “In a few weeks.” He looked at both. The girl, seeing that he was going to speak further, bowed and left the room. His eyes followed her. After a moment, he said firmly “Mr. Gasgoyne, I am going to face all.” “To live it down, Belward?” “I am going to fight it down.” “Well, there’s a difference. You have made a mess of things, and shocked us all. I needn’t say what more. It’s done, and now you know what such things mean to a good woman--and, I hope also, to the father of a good woman.” The man’s voice broke a little. He added: “They used to come to swords or pistols on such points. We can’t settle it in that way. Anyhow, you have handicapped us to-day.” Then, with a burst of reproach, indignation, and trouble: “Great God, as if you hadn’t been the luckiest man on earth! Delia, the estate, the Commons--all for a dompteuse!” “Let us say nothing more,” said Gaston, choking down wrath at the reference to Andree, but sorrowful, and pitying Mr. Gasgoyne. Besides, the man had a right to rail. Soon after they parted courteously. Gaston went to the chateau. As he came up the stone steps he met a procession--it was the feast-day of the Virgin--of priests and people and little children, filing up from the village and the sea, singing as they came. He drew up to the wall, stood upon the stone seat, and took off his hat while the procession passed. He had met the cure, first accidentally on the shore, and afterwards in the cure’s house, finding much in common--he had known many priests in the North, known much good of them. The cure glanced up at him now as they passed, and a half-sad smile crossed his face. Gaston caught it as it passed. The cure read his case truly enough and gently enough too. In some wise hour he would plead with Gaston for the woman’s soul and his own. Gaston did not find Andree at the chateau. She had gone out alone towards the sea, Annette said, by a route at the rear of the village. He went also, but did not find her. As he came again to the quay he saw the Kismet beating upon the rocks--the sailors had given up any idea of saving her. He stood and watched the sea breaking over her, and the whole scene flashed back on him. He thought how easily he could be sentimental over the thing. But that was not his nature. He had made his bed, but he would not lie in it--he would carry it on his back. They all said that he had gone on the rocks. He laughed.